Cold Comfort
by chezchuckles
Summary: After the events of Setup and Countdown, Rick Castle can't get warm without a little help. Oneshot COMPLETE.


She went home with Josh.

He went home and closed himself up in his study and pretended his hands weren't shaking. He sat in his writing chair and put his forehead down on the desk and willed it all away.

It didn't work. He had both the adrenaline dump of the last four hours still buzzing in his blood, and he had the lingering cold in his bones. Blood boiling, bones like chips of ice. The two didn't mix. His brain was a Mexican jumping bean; his hands followed suit, his thighs trembling so hard he couldn't keep his heels on the ground.

He stood, paced, grabbed a blanket from the storage ottoman under the window, wrapped it around his shoulders. Sat back down. Tapped his fingers on his teeth, scrubbed a hand through his hair, stood back up.

He needed something. Needed to keep moving. Needed to sleep. He was exhausted. His brain fried. He needed. . .someone to talk to. Get this all out. Needed someone to freak out with.

The detectives were just too cool to freak out. They toasted with a couple beers, grinned, cracked lame jokes about the red wire, and pretty much machismo'ed their way through the post-bomb celebration. Castle needed to scream like a girl and jump up and down a little bit. A lot. He needed to squeeze someone really hard, crush her against him. Her?

Okay, Kate. Yeah. Might as well admit that. Everyone knew.

Even Kate knew. By now. Surely. Right?

Kate. They'd almost died twice on this one. Shit, that was close. He wanted to scream it. SHIT.

Castle scratched at his skull, knocked his knee into the desk with the force of his jittering, hissed with pain.

Kate. Yeah. He should've asked her before Josh got there. He should've never even thought it. Last year, he'd tried to give her over to Demming, to back out gracefully because she'd told him more than once _No_ and he'd begun to get it through his thick head that she meant it. But this time, he was thinking _hell no_, and he wanted to take her away from him at every opportunity. He wanted to prove himself. He wanted to stop being polite and get what he wanted for once.

He was cold. He stood up, shivering again, and roamed into the kitchen. Hot chocolate. No time to heat up milk on the stove either. Just stick a mug of water in the microwave and stir in the mix. The ceramic clanked loudly against the glass lazy-susan, jarred his teeth. He gave it two minutes, then headed for the pantry. It was dark. Cool air tickled his nose. He shivered again and goose bumps rose on his arms, painfully.

No chocolate. Huh.

He needed some hot chocolate. Put some Jack Daniels in it and swirl it around in his mouth, let it burn his belly. He needed a little nothing for awhile.

Crap. What now?

The microwave signaled too loud. It was the middle of the day, Alexis was at school, his mother out, and he felt like it was four in the morning and he'd had too many chai tea lattes during an all-day writing session. Didn't matter, he was up, he wanted sleep; it was too bright outside and his right hand was bruised from a slight case of frostbite. Broken capillaries in a spider-web across the back of his hand, his knuckles; he was having trouble making a fist.

When he'd signed all those releases for the 12th, he hadn't envisioned this: suffering a case of moderate hypothermia, his hand damaged by exposure. The paramedics assured him it would heal just fine. He wasn't worried. It just limited his ability to recover from a day like this. He needed to write.

He needed to write.

He needed some freaking hot chocolate; he needed to give Kate a hug and not let go for awhile; he needed to not dissolve into hysterical giggles every time he remembered yanking all the wires from that bomb.

He needed to get warm. He needed those soul-killing, desperate last hours in the freezer to not have happened.

His doorbell sounded, startling him so badly that he jumped a foot in the air and sloshed hot water over his hand. His frostbitten hand. He hissed in a breath, sucked on his wounded skin, and started for the door. His mother had probably walked out without her keys again.

When he opened the door, it was Kate Beckett.

It was Kate Beckett, alone and shivering on his doorstep. He didn't think, he just opened the door wider, yanked her inside, and closed it after her. She was wearing her winter coat and still looked chilled; he tugged it off of her, dropped it over the couch and then did what he wanted to do, had wanted to do, since sometime yesterday.

He gathered her up close, too close, and squeezed her tight, burying his face in her neck, practically draped over her. She was here; he didn't give a flip about Josh right now.

She shivered when his nose touched her neck, but her arms came up to circle his waist. "I can't get warm," she whispered.

"I can't find hot chocolate," he mumbled against her skin. Inane. Ridiculous. He didn't care. "Do you want some hot chocolate?"

"You don't have any Castle."

"No, I don't. You're right. I'm so glad you're here." After a second longer, his nose was warm enough to let him pull back, pull back and really look at her, so dark and beautiful. "That was too close. That was just. Too close, Kate."

She nodded back at him, wordless, and he wondered if remembering made her mouth go dry just like it did him.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come up with a silver lining. I wish I could've. Sometimes I think that's my main job, you know? To make it easier on you, this whole thing, and I had nothing."

"Castle," she said softly, and stepped closer, erasing the distance between them. She took his damaged hand between hers and smoothed her fingers over his skin.

"Couldn't even keep you conscious. You conked out on me. Couldn't even be entertaining, and what else am I good for?"

He knew he was babbling, but he couldn't seem to stop it.

"Castle, hush," she chided, tugging his head back down so that he could curl up there, his cheek against the sharp ridge of her shoulder socket, looking at nothing, seeing nothing.

He shivered hard, shaking them both, more leftover adrenaline than real cold, but she pulled him a little closer and squeezed just a little harder, his hand tucked between them, stiff and bruised.

How did she know? He leaned over further, tugged his hand free so he could get a better grip, and lifted her off her feet so he could stand up straight, her body pressed full against his. He breathed in and out, her body rising and falling with his chest, her arms snaking around his neck to hold on.

"Put me down, Castle."

"I don't think I can."

She chuckled, at least there was that, and unlaced her fingers long enough to thump his shoulder. "Let me down."

"I don't want to. I'm feeling childish. And selfish. And cold. You'll just have to deal with it."

She sighed, rested her chin against him, rolling her eyes.

"Can we sit down instead?"

"Then you'll be too far away," he sighed, but did let her down, sliding against his body. When she got to her feet, she looked up at him with that _I know what you're doing _look, but didn't call him on his shit.

She patted his chest and moved around him; his hands trailed along her waist until she was out of reach, and then he followed. She sat down on his couch, pulled the blanket off the back and wrapped herself in it. He sat down beside her and she curled up next to him, her knees touching his hip, her head coming down to rest against his shoulder, sliding her hands around his arm and pulling it close.

"Too far away?" she murmured.

"Yes," he sighed. She lifted her head with a frown, and he put his free arm around her shoulders, tried to tug her into his lap. She came, surprising the hell out of him, and they both toppled backwards onto the couch.

For a moment, the haze of adrenaline-letdown and bomb-diffusing cleared, and he became aware, truly aware, of the way this woman was pressed against him.

Her ear was against his chest, and she hadn't lifted her head. He wrapped his arms around her, adjusted the blanket, and wormed his way further into the couch cushions, trying to get his feet up. She shifted to let him get comfortable, but stayed on top of his chest.

He had to ask. He should ask her.

He was selfish bastard and he just didn't care.

If he brought up Josh now, then he took away her denial. If he brought Josh into this, then this meant more than either of them were prepared for it to mean.

He was cold. She was here.

"Stop thinking, Castle. Go to sleep."

He couldn't help kissing the top of her head though. Couldn't resist stroking her back with his still stinging hand, couldn't stop the sigh that escaped him.

He needed this. She was here. He didn't want her to ever leave.

"Can you stay?" he whispered, dreading the answer.

"As long as I need to." Her thumbs stroked his biceps, her leg had fallen between his, her hips flush with his. "Go to sleep, Castle."

"Just don't leave while I'm asleep." He curled his arm up so that he could palm the back of her skull, felt immensely better when she sighed and melted against him. Her sigh echoed in the room.

"I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
